Sticks and Stones
by runs with sissors
Summary: In 1995, the Doctor, in search of an alien substance, finds himself at a gymnastics competition. Guess who happens to be competing? Ninth Doctor for the first two chapters, Tenth for the last two.
1. Head up, shoulders back, knees together

**Disclaimer/Warning: **I've got to be honest- I had always wanted to write a fic including gymnastics (since I spent a good chunk of my life in a gym), but I live in the States and I realize that there are differences between UK gymnastics an US gymnastics- unfortunately, I don't know all of them. Like, for example, I'm not altogether sure what "Under 7's" means. Because of that, this story might be **AU **and I don't even know it. My apologies.

So if/when I get a term or two wrong, please forgive me (but then tell me, so I can change it). Be considerate, though. I'm doing my best.

**Disclaimer II**: I don't own Doctor Who or anything Doctor Who-related. I can see your shock from here, believe me.

* * *

From his spot in the gymnasium, the Doctor could keep close watch on the gymnasts, which was fine with him; that way he could see the accidents happen. If he was supposed to treat these girls, he might as well know what was going on when they got hurt.

Not that he _wanted_ them to get hurt. No, certainly not. If he didn't have to treat any swollen ankles or ripped tendons that day, that would be fine with him. But where there were fearless eight year olds doing dangerous flips and twists on the floor exercise or bulky fourteen year olds running headlong at a stationary vaulting horse, well…naturally, there'd be a few injuries.

Everyone had been calling him the 'physical technician.' He wasn't sure why 'doctor' didn't suffice as far as his title went, but he wasn't going to argue with any competition officials. Probably no one wanted to call him 'doctor' because they weren't entirely sure if he _was_ a doctor or not. Understandable, he decided, because many times at gymnastics competitions, the person in charge of handing out ice packs and applying pressure to wounds was just a coach at the host gym and didn't really know what the hell they were doing.

…Which scared the Doctor to death, the more he thought about it. Who in their right mind would take over the duties of a doctor without really being a doctor? Especially looking after gymnasts. He had decided that anyone who did gymnastics- especially at the competition level- had to be completely lacking of brainpower. No one in their right mind would _choose_ to do this sport.

The competition had officially started about an hour ago, but he had been there for two hours beforehand, setting up. Every half-hour or so he had to remind himself that he was there not only take care of the gymnasts, but also to keep on the alert for an alien substance called _Camidropro_, which commonly disguised itself as a material similar to crushed velvet. Many of the leotards at that particular competition were made out of what was seemingly 'crushed velvet'… of course, crushed velvet didn't emit a signal that was receptible by the sonic screwdriver. Camidropro, on the other hand, did.

One set of gymnasts, all clad in identical blue and white leotards, had particularly taken his interest. They were a very talented group and he watched them the most out of all of the other teams (which worked out fine because their leotards happened to be made out of the potential- Camidropro).

These girls joked and laughed and acted silly when they were warming up, but when the competition began they became focused, perhaps even a little intense. The girls still occasionally pushed each other jocularly or made a face to loosen nerves, but they were now that they were alert and attentive, possessing routines without many flaws.

There were six girls in all in a range of body types, which surprised him. He supposed all of the particularly tall or lanky girls were weeded out by the time they reached the Olympics, so that was why all of the ones competing at that level seemed to be the same- eighteen years old, huge shoulders, no chest and gigantic thighs. Oh, and two six-inch scars on their knees, from where they had been dislocated and had surgery to relocate them.

He squinted around the gym looking for traces of perspiration on the girls, but nothing was visible yet. Yet. That meant no proof. But the moment a bead of sweat rolled off of one of those girl's noses, he'd be there.

He sighed deeply, examining the team in the blue and white that he had adopted as his own. He listened to the coach direct the girls before they warmed up their beam routines, and noticed, happily, that their knees were all scar-free.

"You get two passes to do your mount through back handspring, two passes to do the handspring through the dismount, and one pass to do both," the coach told the girls. She seemed to be a little distracted. "We have four and a half minutes on the timer. Steph, are you ready?"

The girl in the front of the line- a terrified looking blonde, about eight years old- stepped up to the side of the beam and mounted, after one of the judges had given her the go-ahead.

The young girl ran through the beginning of her routine hurriedly, jumping down from the beam just after she had finished a very shaky back flip.

"Keep your toes pointed on that handspring, Stephanie," Coach told her, a scowl of disapproval on her face. "That's up to two-tenths, yeah? Don't flex them."

The girl sighed and shook her head, moving towards the back of the line. Her teammates mounted the beam in the same fashion and did exactly what the first had done.

Stephanie was up again soon. She jumped up and acted as though she had just done her handspring, smiling proudly and 'finishing' (which the Doctor had learned wasn't the end of the routine, just the end of the skill) with a flourish. She then did some more dance steps, a handstandand then dismounted: a back gainer off the side of the beam.

Once again, each girl did exactly as the first did. In a way they seemed like robots, each imitating the first. But even within that, each gymnast had her own style and moved differently than her predecessor. Despite the fact that each routine consisted of the same tricks, every routine was quite different.

And since they were all different, Coach had no shame in telling the girls exactly when and where they were losing points.

"One minute," the judge announced. Coach looked stricken.

"Oh Lord - alright, girls, hurry it up. Run through the routine but skip the dismount and the jump sequence."

The girls exchanged nervous glances.

"C'mon, c'mon, we've got sixty seconds!" Coach clapped her hands as she spoke. "Go, go!"

Stephanie hurried up to the beam and obliged, the others followed suit. Just as the last girl dismounted, the judge announced, "Time."

"I'm sorry, ladies," the coach said, taking a stack of scorecards out of her back pocket. "You took too long. Don't go over time, okay? That's up to seven-tenths penalty."

Coach wiped her brow with her free hand; the Doctor noticed her fingernails were long and painted scarlet. She wore virtually no cosmetics and her hair was pulled into a tight ponytail. Finally, he saw that she wore a navy-blue jumper bearing the word "Coach" in large, bold letters.

"We're going in reverse- alphabetical order, alright?" she said, shuffling the cards. "So…Rose. Rose Tyler, you're first."

A brunette girl at the end of the line stood up, pulling at the back of her leotard; the Doctor laughed lightly, as all of the gymnasts competing had been forced to pull at their leotard at one point or another.

She smiled at the other gymnasts and cracked a joke while she waited for the judges to get organised, even jumping up and down a few times to calm her nerves.

The Doctor watched this girl intently- this poor little girl. She must only be about nine years old, eleven tops, but she had the confidence of someone three times her age. She set her jaw forward and cracked her knuckles. The Doctor could only envision what terrifying things must be going through her head. What if she fell? What if she slipped? Her handspring had been a little shaky, after all. But before long, one of the judges made eye contact with her, and it was all over.

"Rose?" the judge asked. The brunette smiled and saluted, proper gymnast-fashion, then stepped up to the side of the beam. She placed her hands just above the beam, took a deep breath and…

The girl took off like a rocket, her mount a little wobbly, but otherwise not bad. She did a sequence of poses, making her way down the beam, and then a full turn. After the turn, though, the pace of the routine slowed considerably.

She kneaded her lips, inhaling deeply, and slowly raised her arms above her head. She placed the heals of her palms together and set her feet so that they were both firmly planted on the beam. The girl closed her eyes momentarily, breathing through her nose. Then, without warning, her eyes flew open and she brought her arms down, crouching into a very slight squat.

The Doctor was sure he was the only one who saw her foot slip.

She never even stood a chance- she was crooked from the beginning. Her left hand made contact with the centre of the beam, but her right hand had nothing to grasp hold of but air. She managed to catch her foot on the beam, trying to keep from falling off, but it didn't matter. The brunette fell to the mat, her entire body crumpling on top of her right arm.

Time seemed to stop as all of this happened. The Doctor felt his arms drop to his sides. He could see her face as she fell- it was completely blank. It was not registering on her face nor in her mind what had happened to her, what was happening to her, and what was going to happen to her. No fear, no nothing. Just blank.

The girl's entire body shuttered from there on the mat. She gasped in pain and curled into a loose ball, but made no attempt to move. Coach ran to her side and squatted down by her; the Doctor took a few steps in the girl's direction before running over, having no regard for whose routine he interrupted on his way.

The Doctor placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to look at her face. "Rose, Rose, what hurts?" he asked.

"My wr- my wrist," she replied, tears running in waterfalls down her cheeks, making tiny pools of water on the mat. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, like if she just wanted it badly enough she'd be back on the beam, about to land a perfect back handspring.

"Help me lift her," the Doctor ordered.

Coach foundered. "Are you sure we should move her?"

"Yes," the Doctor said, his eyes flaring. "I know what I'm doing, thanks."

Coach frowned and swung one of Rose's arms over her shoulder, the Doctor did the same. They helped her to a standing position.

"Alright," said the Doctor. "Can you walk?"

Rose sucked in a breath. "'Course…I can…walk," she said, holding her wrist like it was a porcelain doll. "Get off," she said, her heart not really in the snap of the remark.

The Doctor frowned and let go of her, as did Coach. Limping, she made her way over mats and springboards, in the direction of the medical station. The Doctor looked at Coach, who just shook her head, smiling slightly in light of the situation.

"There's no talking to Rose," she said, rubbing her face despairingly. "There never is."

The Doctor snorted and the two headed off to the alcove, leaving five other gymnasts, applauding their injured teammate, in their wake.

* * *

That's all for now- I hope I've got your interest. Reviews make an author better! And thanks for reading. 


	2. It seems we've talked like this before

I hope my Disclaimer/Warning didn't scare any of you off last chapter…I realized later it sounded a little harsh. My apologies. I just wanted to clarify. But that's done and over and now we can have fun!

(The chapter title is a reference to "Where or When" from the musical Babes in Arms, by Lorenz Hart. Check it out sometime.)

* * *

Rose was still crying heavily by the time they reached the alcove, but she was trying to calm herself down. She was not someone who would cry in front of a grown man- especially a grown man she didn't know. 

"Sit down," he instructed her, motioning to a metal chair. He dragged another chair out of the corner and sat it down across from Rose's. Coach was left standing.

"Wrist," he ordered. Rose sniffed and stretched out her arm. The Doctor touched it lightly and Rose recoiled with a sharp intake of breath.

"Ow!" she yelped. Rose looked at the Doctor with large brown eyes. "Sorry," she said, her voice shaking. "I didn't mean to…"

"It's alright, but I need to see your wrist." He raised his eyebrows, telling her he was not going to apologise for wanting to help her.

Rose gritted her teeth and let the Doctor examine her wrist again. She started tearing up the moment he touched it, even though he was doing his best to be careful.

"Talk to me," he instructed her. Anything to get her mind off her wrist. "Tell me about yourself."

Rose didn't say anything; she just tried to keep from crying.

"Come on, say something!" he commanded. "Tell me about…"

"What's our home gym look like, Rose?" Coach cut in.

Huge tears rolled down the young girl's face, but she made no attempt to catch them. "Um," she mused, her voice thick, "it's big."

"Keep going," the Doctor told her. Rose kept crying. "Come on, come on."

Coach rubbed her hands together. "How many beams have we got, Rose?"

"Six," Rose responded. "In two rows of three. And one low beam."

"How many sets of bars?"

"Four," Rose stammered. "And one trampoline bar."

Coach opened her mouth to say something else, but Rose continued-

"The in the far left is always set really far apart, so we always use it for tap swings and giants. The one up front is really bouncy so it's good for dismounts, but it doesn't have a soft mat under it unless we pull one over. The one up center always has a lot of chalk on the high bar that gets into our eyes, but it's got the springboard so- Ouch!"

The Doctor glanced up at her, but didn't let go. Coach was looking on with despondence.

"Is that really necessary, doctor…?" she blinked. "Hang on, I don't even know you!"

The Doctor saw Rose had taken a sudden interest in this new change of topic. She looked up at Coach and sniveled.

"I'm nobody," the Doctor said, carefully turning Rose's wrist over. "So, what's a trampoline bar?"

Coach looked cross. "What's your name?"

"I'm…Smith," he shrugged off the question. "Dr. Smith."

"I know a Smith," Rose piped up. "Mickey Smith. But I don't think you're related to him," she said, biting back a smile. The Doctor carefully rotated her wrist, however, and Rose began crying again.

"Tell me about…yourself," he suggested. "You're Rose, right?"

"Yeah," she answered, squirming in pain.

"Rose…"

"You're…ten?

"Nine. Ow!"

"And you're mother?"

"Jackie, she's sitting…" Rose squinted out into the crowd. "I can't find her. Must've gotten a drink or something."

"Oh, damn!" Coach blurted, pivoting around. "I'll have to tell her…Rose, will you be all right here?"

"I'm fine, but will you tell my mum what happened? Just so she doesn't get scaredwhen she sees I'm not sitting with the others anymore."

"Yeah," Coach nodded. "Be back soon. And you," she said, locking eyes with the Doctor, "take good care of her."

The Doctor grunted in acknowledgement, then shifted his attention back to Rose, whose eyes were welling up again. "Alright," he said. "Your father?"

Rose hesitated. "My dad… died. A long time ago."

"Ah."

Rose pressed her lips together, but kept silent. She squirmed in her seat, nails digging into her thigh, just next to a large bruise.

"How'd you get that?" he asked her, nodding at the bruise.

"Smacked it against the side of the beam doing a drill for handstand dismount. It was bigger a week ago."

The Doctor let go of Rose's wrist. "There are lots of things I understand about huma-" he stopped himself- "About people. Like how information goes from the book page to your short-term memory, how muscle reflexes work, why eyes only come in brown, blue and green…" the Doctor sat back in his chair. "But one thing I'm sure I'll _never_ understand…is gymnastics," he said, almost chuckling.

"What do you mean?"

"What, falling off of balance beams and the like. That's hard work. Hard enough to…I don't know why you do it, I suppose."

"Yeah, but it's not so bad."

The Doctor paused for a moment. "Sometimes, when things get really rough, you think about quitting, don't you?"

Rose's eyes flitted down for a moment. "Yeah, once or twice."

"Well, why don't you?"

Rose blinked at him. "What, quit?"

"Sure! I would have by now."

Rose blinked again. "I…I don't know, I just…I never really…"

He smiled. "Never even crossed you mind, did it?"

Rose shook her head. "Like I said, it's not all that bad. 'Cause, yeah, not every day goes well. Some days aren't as good as others. But then something good happens in the middle of all the bad…"

"And that makes everything worth it, doesn't it?" the Doctor finished for her. He inhaled. "Someone…or something… to keep working for."

Rose smiled at him. The first true, proper smile she had given him since they met.

"Right," she replied. "Like when you get a new skill, so then you can move on to the next level." She grinned even wider. "For example, I got my full twist on floor last Thursday."

The Doctor shook his head. "Unbelievable," he said. "Is that where you…ah, never mind." He leaned forward slightly. "Do you even think, when you're doing a flip? What exactly is your train of thought, right before you go upside down?" The Doctor paused and looked at his shoes, laughing. "Imagine, asking a nine year old this. And how long have I been around again?"

Rose seemed not to hear the last sentence.

"I don't really know what I think," she told him honestly. "Actually, it's better when you don't think, because then you start realising all of the bad things that can happen. The best gymnasts are the ones that don't think at all." Rose shifted her gaze past the Doctor. "They just…go."

"That's what I thought," the Doctor said, sitting back down again. "But I also think all gymnasts are completely mad, even the ones who _do_ think."

By now, the Doctor realised he was talking too much. Why did he feel like he could talk to this girl? He hadn't known her for more than ten minutes, and already he was trying to be philosophical.

"That's what mum always says," Rose giggled, totally oblivious to what he was thinking. "She thinks I'm mental, cause I do things she thinks are dangerous. But you don't really understand how dangerous they are, till you get older. That's why there are all of those five year olds, you know, in level six, because they don't understand."

"So you, being nine, are old enough to know better?"

Rose wrinkled her nose. "Yeah."

"I've got a feeling you're probably right." He paused. Maybe he should just shut it before he said something incriminating. "Your coach told me there was no talking to you, but I didn't believe her. Otherwise I probably would've had to figure out some other distraction instead of making you tell me about yourself earlier."

Rose squirmed. "No, she's right. I'm just not like those five year olds. If I know I can't make something, why go for it? One of these days, I'm going to do something risky and get killed."

The Doctor threw back his head and laughed. "Rose, I…" _Stop!_ he thought.

"I'll just say that no-one can tell you when to take risks and when not to. Sometimes your brain will tell you if it's okay to go or not, and sometimes your instincts will. You've got to know what to listen to, when to listen to it, and when to stop." _Like right now, perhaps I should be stopping…_ "I do it all the time, believe me," he muttered.

"What?"

"Nothin'," he smiled.

"Alright," Rose returned the smile. "Oh- what about my wrist?"

The Doctor scratched his ear. "Doesn't it feel any better by now?"

"A bit, but I don't think…" she tried putting pressure on it, but retracted. "I can't use it. I won't be able to compete."

"Do you want to compete?"

"Well, yeah, I mean…this is a qualifier meet…"

The Doctor frowned, trying to gather his thoughts. "Alright, I've got two options. Actually, you've got two options. This will be a good test for you, now that I think about it," he said. "And _instinctual_ test."

"Me?"

"Weren't you paying attention? Now, listen: I can either send you home with a note saying you broke your wrist…"

The Doctor saw Rose's eyes shift.

"…Or I can heal you up right now." He exhaled. "The only problem is, it's not really an…um…" his hand delved into his pocket and stayed there, "conventional curative. But you'll be able to compete. Your choice."

Rose suddenly understood that her options were either fright or flight. She paused, chewing her lip. Finally, she opted for flight. "Alright, what are you going to do to me?"

"Good girl!" the Doctor said, clapping her on the shoulder. "Now…alright, come with me," he said, and led her over until they were out of sight of the crowd. "This will only take a moment. It might sting a bit, but…"

Rose whimpered.

"…But it'll be worth it. Just give me a second," he said, taking his hand out of his pocket. "You might want to look away, actually."

"Is it an injection? I hate injections…"

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "You can do a back handspring on a four-inch wide beam, three and a half feet above the ground, but you can't take your needle?"

Rose frowned.

"Well then, yes, it's an injection. Just look away."

Rose turned her head away and felt the Doctor lift her arm. She heard a strange noise, like a whirring sound and a warm sensation running along her wrist for the longest time, but no needle prick. She felt a sudden stirring in her wrist, like her bones were shifting, moving around and vibration. She turned her head just in time to see the Doctor shut off a strange device he was holding above her wrist.

"Is that a syringe?" she asked, withdrawing her wrist. "It looks like a pen, did you know?"

"It's a special type of syringe, okay?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "But it doesn't matter, because now you can go and do your routines. You're cured."

Rose looked at her wrist- it no longer hurt. In fact, it looked as good as new.

"What did you do to it?" she asked, rotating it a few times.

The Doctor shrugged. "Nothing much. Nothing you'd under…I fixed it, alright? Let's leave it at that."

Rose smiled at him. "Thank you," she said. "Thanks very much."

The Doctor returned the smile, and at that moment the sound of a woman's voice was audible just outside where the alcove was located.

"Oh god," Rose said, rubbing her face. "That'll be mum."

"Oh," the Doctor said quickly, "don't tell her…"

"I won't," Rose assured him. "Trust me."

The Doctor beamed at her. "Fantastic, then."

"Rose!" Jackie cried. "Sweetheart, what happened? One of the meet officials found me and told me you had fallen off during your beam routine," she said, pulling her daughter into a tight hug. "Was it during the back handspring? 'Cause I keep telling you, Rose, maybe it's not time to move up a level. You can always repeat…"

"No, it's fine," Rose said gravely, glancing at the Doctor. "I think it's a risk I'm gonna take." She smiled comfortingly at her mother.

Jackie looked into her daughter's eyes for a moment. "Well," she said, taking her shoulders, "if you're sure." Finally, she noticed the Doctor.

"Oh, hello," she said, surprised. "Who're you?"

"Dr. Smith," Rose introduced him. The Doctor felt a pang of…something, perhaps guilt, because he wasn't being honest with them, but he knew it'd pass.

"Well, thank you," Jackie said, shaking his hand. "Is she going to finish the meet?"

"Yes, I… I mean…I took a look at it, and it was better than anticipated. We thought it was broken for a while, but it wasn't."

"Not even a sprain?"

"Nope," Rose said quickly. "Nothing! Not a thing. So, um, I'll just get back out there…" she turned to the Doctor. "Thanks again," she said, smiling at him.

"Yes, thank you," Jackie said, making her way towards the door. "Nice to meet you."

The Doctor smiled back. "Good luck, Rose," he called after the girl. She waved at him and ran back to join her teammates. "Good luck with everything," he said quietly.

He took a moment to watch Rose talk animatedly to her teammates. That was one girl he was pretty sure would turn out all right in the end.

_Now then_, he thought. _About that damned_ _Camidropro…_

**dwdwwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdw**

I decided I liked the dwdw… page breaks better than the bars. Don't you agree? Drop me a line and tell me! Thanks!


	3. Burns, Hammerstein, Blair and Long

Just a reminder: in this chapter, I sort of pulled a fast one on you here and we've jumped to the Tenth Doctor. I think you could probably figure that out yourselves but, you know, I'm just considerate like that.

(I hope you enjoy sarcasm.)

And I hope you enjoy the chapter!

* * *

The TARDIS landed softly; the Doctor smiled to himself and patted the console, whispering something to it in his native tongue. He waited a moment, then looked towards the door that led to the TARDIS' other rooms.

No Rose.

He opened his mouth to call for her, but stopped himself. He waited again.

Still no Rose.

This _was_ odd. Usually she would have come running by now, eyes lighted with enthusiasm, and he'd explain where they were and why they were there.

But not today, for whatever reason. Rose didn't come running.

"Rose…" he called lightly, making his way out of the console room and down the corridor. He stopped about midway down.

"Ro-ose?"

Still nothing.

"Rosalind?" he asked, taking a few steps forward. The Doctor turned the corner before stopping again. He waited for a second.

"A rose is a rose is a rose…"

He turned around to make sure she wasn't coming up behind him.

"Is a rose…"

He jogged to the end of the corridor.

"Miss Tyler, this isn't funny!"

The Doctor was now only a few feet away from her room. He eyed her door, thinking of what to say next.

"Oh, the yellow rose of Texas, she sparkles like the dew…"

Now if that didn't get her moving, he wasn't sure what would.

"Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens…"

He was outside of her door. Where was she?

"Come on, Rose, can you really ignore kittens?"

Finally, he opened her door. Rose was sound asleep in bed, back turned towards him. The Doctor breathed a sigh of relief and stood in the threshold for a moment before taking a few steps into her room, smiling to himself.

"My love is like a red, red rose," he began, shoving his hands down in his pockets, "that's newly sprung in June."

Rose stirred, but did not wake.

"My love is like a melody that's sweetly played in tune."

The Doctor took several steps over to Rose's bed. She had turned her face towards him slightly, even though she was still asleep.

"As fair thou art, my bonnie lass," he continued, "so deep in love am I..."

Finally, Rose's eyes fluttered open.

"That I will love thee still, my dear, till a' the seas gang dry."

Rose propped herself up on her elbows and smiled at the Doctor, who sat at the foot of her bed.

"That's a good poem," she said sleepily.

"Well, I'm rather fond of it," the Doctor smiled. "We landed and you weren't awake."

Rose sat all the way up, glancing at her alarm clock. "Sorry," rubbing her forehead. She locked eyes with the Doctor. "Well, where are we today?"

The Doctor sprang off the bed. "On this fine day, the 9th of March, 1996, we are in London."

He extended his hand to Rose, who took it, kicking the sheets off of her as she stood up. "Why?" she asked.

The Doctor opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it. "It's a surprise," he said at last.

Rose tilted her head over to the side, trying to suppress a smile. "Am I going to like this surprise?"

"You'd better," the Doctor said. "You chose it."

By now, the wheels in Rose's head were turning faster and faster. _A surprise that I chose? _she wondered. Rose didn't want the Doctor to know she was trying to work it out, so she grinned and shook her head. "Alright, give me ten minutes."

The Doctor sighed dramatically and left the room, closing the door behind him. Rose smiled and started sorting through her wardrobe. For some reason, 'My Favourite Things' was now playing in her head…

**dwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdw**

Fifteen minutes later the pair had set off down the streets of London, the Doctor walking slightly ahead, as he knew where their destination was. The blonde half-walked, half-skipped, trying to drain information out of the Doctor best she could.

"1996," the Doctor began airily. "Tony Blair will get appointed Prime Minister in a few months. Harry Potter gets published in June…" His eyes lit up. "The Hale-Bopp comet makes its closest visit to Earth."

"That's all-" Rose started.

"_Spiceworld_ comes out this year," the Doctor cut her off. "Although we won't stick around for that premiere, if you don't mind."

"Yes, but-"

"Yagan's head gets exhumed! Exciting, that."

Rose stopped skipping. "You done yet?"

"Yep," the Doctor beamed, making his way back to where Rose was standing. "Well, actually, now I was going to tell you the surprise, but if you don't want…"

"No, no, go ahead!" Rose insisted, grinning. "Sorry to interrupt."

The Doctor paused, trying to become serious. "Rose Tyler, is it true that, when you were eight years old, your life's ambition was to meet actress Patricia Long?"

Rose cocked her head over to the side. "Maaaaybe. Why?"

The Doctor gave her a cheeky smile.

Rose shifted her weight from foot to foot playfully. "Alright, so let's say that I _did_ want to meet Patricia Long. When I was eight, of course. By the time I was eleven I realised what a horrible actress she was. Honestly, I can't believe she ever got _paid_ to make films; she was awful."

The smile slid off the Doctor's face as easily as it had come to be there. "So…so you don't like her any more?"

Rose made a face. "No, not really."

"Well, we've come this far…" he said to himself. "How would you like to meet her now?"

Rose's face went from disgust to surprise to delight in the blink of an eye. "Really?

The Doctor nodded.

"'Course I would!" she screamed, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Really, though?" she asked. "Are you being serious? Can I really meet her?"

The Doctor didn't say a word. He just grabbed Rose's hand and led her round the corner. They jogged down the street, past shops and cafés, until they were across the way from a large building- next to it, a small bistro that looked like it could hold about five people.

The Doctor pointed at the bistro. "At quarter past eleven on March 9th, 1996, Patricia Long will enter that restaurant and order the special."

Rose cast the Doctor a sideways glance. "How do you know that?"

The Doctor wrinkled his nose. "I just know." He thought for a moment. "Well, I also know because there'll be a huge law suit- Long's going to sue the restaurant because the fish gave her food poisoning. Didn't clean it properly or something. Anyway," he went on, checking his watch, "all I know is that in fifteen minutes, Patricia Long will go in that restaurant."

The Doctor saw Rose's tongue start to poke out between her teeth. "Would I be right in assuming we're going to need some psychic paper?"

"Yup," he replied, smiling. "Ms Long won't meet just anyone, you know, so I thought we should be-" he reached into his pocket, but before he could draw out the paper, Rose gasped and grabbed his arm, pulling him back around the corner. The Doctor let out a yelp of protest; Rose clapped a hand over his mouth.

"That's mum!" she whispered, pointing across the street to where a younger Jackie Tyler rounded the corner, holding a young girl's hand. The girl had a large black bag slung over her shoulder and seemed to be wearing a tracksuit.

"And that's…that's…" Rose trailed off, dropping the hand she was pointing with. "Oh, God…"

The Doctor raised his eyebrows and said something inaudible from behind Rose's hand.

"Sorry," Rose apologised, removing her hand from his mouth. Jackie and the younger Rose had entered the large building together.

"How old are you?" the Doctor inquired. "I mean then, not now."

"Ten?" Rose guessed, not really sure herself. "I can't believe I was ten years old in '96." She crossed her arms and leaned up against the brick wall. Slowly, her mouth curved into a smile.

The Doctor saw the expression on his companion's face and knew immediately what she was thinking.

"Rose," he said quickly, taking her squarely by the shoulders. "Rose, Rose, listen to me. _No_. No, no, no. Bad idea. Terrible, atrocious, horrific idea." The Doctor took Rose's face in his hands and met her gaze.

"I cannot express in words how _bad_ that idea is. There aren't enough languages on earth, in this universe, in _any_ universe that can let you know how bad that idea is!"

Rose blinked at him innocently. "I just want to know what I'm doing in that building, and why mum's in there with me…"

The Doctor groaned and put his hands on his face in exasperation. "_Don't touch the baby_," he said, speech muffled by hands. "Does that phrase ring any bells? Yes?"

"I won't!" Rose protested, taking the Doctor's hands down from his face and holding them. "I won't, I swear! I won't. I'm just curious. I'll avoid myself like the plague." She paused and looked sideways. "That sounded really odd."

The Doctor looked at the sky and sighed. He almost didn't want to let her go, not because he didn't trust her, but because he enjoyed immensely the feeling of her fingers interlaced with his.

"I am so going to regret this," the Doctor groaned.

Rose beamed at him.

"You can go," he told her at last. "But I'm going too. And don't get any ideas about staying more than ten min…"

But Rose was already half way across the street. The Doctor rubbed his forehead, sighed, and started after her.

"You had better damn well meet Patricia Long, Rose Tyler!" he yelled, the wind sweeping his coattails off the street. "I didn't drag myself to this century for nothing!"


	4. Deja vu

The last chapter! We're four of four…100 percent done…the glass is nearly full…

Haha, sorry. Go ahead and read, ignore me:

**dwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdw**

The Doctor entered the building just behind Rose. He noticed there was a queueof people to his left, a table set up in front of them with two women taking money and punching tickets, and beyond that, gymnastics equipment lined wall-to-wall.

"Oooh," Rose said, understanding. She was standing a few feet to his left, looking around in awe. "I'm competing today." She narrowed her eyes. "How old did I saw I was- ten? So I'm in, what, level six or seven? At least."

This information went in one of the Doctor's ears and out the other. "Sorry?" he asked.

"This is Judge's Cup, the most important competition of the year," Rose said, turning to him. "At least, for us it was." She broke out into a wide smile. "And I'm here to see myself compete!"

"What about Patricia Long?" the Doctor asked desperately. "Big-time actress, gets food poisoning next door? Remember her?"

Rose shushed him, as they were getting strange looks from the people in the queue.

"Look," she whispered. "Ten minutes, okay? Just to see what level I'm in, how I'm doing…" She stole a quick glance at a table where two women sat, taking money. "But I'm going to need you to get us in."

The Doctor looked at Rose in a pained sort of way "Do I have to?"

"It's five quidto get in- do you have any money? Nah, you never do. You'll have to use the-"

"Yes, yes, I know, thank you," he grumbled, wishing Rose would calm down a bit. The Doctor retrieved the psychic paper from his pocket and sauntered up to the table, acquiring an air of confidence as he went.

"Hello," he said cheerily, flashing the paper at the two women. "I'm Dr. John Smith, head physician at the…uh…at Cambridge, and I'm here to…" the Doctor paused- he hadn't planned this far ahead yet. "Investigate the…"

Rose clapped a hand on his shoulder and stepped forward. "Ice," she finished, "and the medical tape. There have been complaints that the tape is snapping too easily and the ice is melting too quickly. Hormones…or something."

One of the women raised an eyebrow. "And you are?"

"Lewis," the Doctor picked up the pace. "My colleague."

"It was either this or hairdressing," Rose told the two of them, smiling. "Anyway, we'll get some samples and take 'em back to the lab- we'll have the results back to you in a few days, probably. Make sure everything's copasetic."

"I thought you said you were a _doctor_," the other, who hadn't spoken before, shot a glance at the Doctor.

"I've got…multiple degrees," he replied quickly. "Anyway! Time is of the essence, ma'am, we've got to go in there and get those rice samples."

"Ice samples," Rose corrected.

"Same thing."

The women exchanged glances. "Go ahead," the first woman told them, jerking her thumb over her shoulder. Rose thanked them and gave the Doctor a shove.

The two stepped over a balance beam placed at floor-level, which was serving as a barrier, and onto a blue mat. To their left, a few rows of stands about half-filled with parents and siblings of competing gymnasts.

Rose squinted at the competitors, all of whom had gathered on the floor and were warming up. All, that is, except one- clad in a blue and white leotard, there was a small, bored-looking brunette girl sitting in a chair, off to the side.

"There I am," Rose announced, pointing. "I must be the only one in my age group competing today."

The Doctor swung around. "Why aren't you…running and…jumping about…like the others?" he asked, making a vague motion with his hand.

"Coach hasn't showed up yet, I suppose." She shrugged and turned her head towards the stands. "There's mum, right in the middle, sitting with…aw, that's nice, look, a few people from my gym came to watch me."

"That _is_ very nice," the Doctor agreed. "Can we go now?"

"No!" Rose punched the Doctor in the shoulder. "C'mon, don't be such a…look, do you want to go after mum or after me? 'Cause we're going to have to split up eventually."

"You," the Doctor said quickly, "Definitely. You know how many codes and rules we're violating just being here, let alone talking to…"

"Since when have you followed the rules?" Rose asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Well…it sounded good, didn't it?"

Rose grinned. "Well you'd better let me have the psychic paper, knowing mum..."

The Doctor frowned, but gave it to her anyway. Rose turned on her heel and went up to the stands where her mother sat: the Doctor in the opposite direction, over where the younger Rose seemed to be waiting for something.

**dwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdw**

Jackie was sitting approximately in the centre of the stands, chatting with a skinny blonde woman. Rose grabbed a programme and made her way along the row above where her mother sat, all the while trying to think of what to say to get her mother to talk. Finally, she sat down next to the blonde woman, watching the competitors idly until either of the women noticed she was there.

It was the woman who first turned around. "Hello," she said, sticking out her hand. "Sue Turner. Do you have someone competing?"

Sue! Rose remembered Sue- Stephanie's mother. She and Steph had never been great friends, but Sue had always been very kind to Rose.

"Hi, I'm R…" _Damn_, she thought "Patricia Lewis, and no, actually, I'm here doing research."

"Research?" Jackie chimed in. "On what?"

"The ice, actually, and the medical tape. There've been some complaints so we're just investigating…"

"We?"

Rose smiled and nearly rolled her eyes. "Me and my colleague, Dr. Smith," she explained, pointing to the Doctor, who was waiting for his cue. He was looking at the posters and advertisements on the wall, trying to be inconspicuous. Unfortunately, he was failing miserably.

"He's doing research?" Jackie asked. "Really?"

"Yeah, he just…gets distracted easily."

Jackie shook her head, but turned her attention back to Rose. "Jackie Tyler, by the way. My daughter's competing today."

"Oh, really? Which one is she?"

Jackie pointed. "That's her, in the blue and white. She really should start warming up; I've got no idea where her coach is. She's already a half-hour late."

Rose, in an attempt to be casual, asked which level was competing, how many competitors there were, and how many gyms were competing.

"Fifteen? Are there always that many in a competition?" Rose asked, knowing the answer.

"No, but this is the biggest of the year," Jackie explained. "Everyone that qualifies is invited."

"Right," Rose nodded. She stole a quick glance to the Doctor, who was watching her out of the corner of his eye, and gave him a slight nod: the go-ahead. "Right."

**dwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdw**

"Rose Tyler?" the Doctor asked cautiously.

The girl turned her head to look at the approaching man. "How did you know my name?"

"I…it's embroidered on your bag," the Doctor pointed out, motioning to her athletic bag. Indeed, it had _Rose Tyler_ sewn elegantly the side, above it, _Jericho Street Junior School Gymnastics: London_.

"That's a very nice bag. Extremely nice, actually. How much did that cost?"

"I got it for Christmas," Rose answered, shaking her head. "Can I…um, help you?"

The Doctor figured that, since she was a gymnast, it was safe to assume she'd be experiencing some kind of pain. "The women at the door said you were having some trouble with injuries? I'm a doctor, by the way."

Rose licked her lips. "Not really, although…well, I landed funny on my full last week, but the swelling went down really quickly."

The Doctor grimaced. "Any bruising?"

"Nope. Well, not on my ankle. I caught my heel on the bar a few months ago, doing a straddle back…" Rose stopped, eyeing the Doctor. "Wait, how did they know I was hurt? Who told them?"

"Your coach sent over a sheet before, describing everything."

Rose nodded. "Oh! I broke my wrist, too, but that was like a year ago." She chuckled slightly, as if the thought amused her

"Broke your wrist?" the Doctor asked, mildly interested.

"Back handspring on beam. I slipped. You know, now that I remember, I don't think it was ever actually broken. I didn't get any X-rays done. Not even a splint. The doctor just looked me over for a time and let me go."

The Doctor's mouth fell slightly open. "Sorry?"

"Yeah! Weirdest thing. I told everyone at gym about it and they said that they had all needed splints. Melanie broke her wrist in two places and wore a cast for four months. Me? I fall on my wrist, doctor looks it over, I cry a bit, he gives me an injection and that's that."

The Doctor blinked several times. "An _injection_? He fixed a broken wrist with an injection?"

"Yup. Strange syringe, though, it looked more like a pen. And I didn't feel the needle. But that's what happened. It hurt really, really badly, but he gives me an injection and I was able to compete."

The Doctor shook his head. "You should have reported him- you could be seriously injured because of what he did. Or, what he _didn't_ do, I suppose."

"I placed fourth at that meet, in All-Around. I should be thanking him."

The Doctor shook his head again, completely befuddled. "A pen, did you say?" he asked, after a pause

Rose nodded. "Well, do you want to look at it?" She stood up and raised her arm.

The Doctor took it and pulled the long-sleeved leotard sleeve back slightly. "You know, these uniforms…"

"Leotards."

"Leotards, right. Well, if you ask me, if you really want to make an impression, you should represent the home country. You need some Union Jacks on the front, not blue and white. People are going to think you're from Scotland."

Rose giggled. "I've always wanted a shirt with a Union flag on it, tell the truth. A leotard, though- those would be cool."

"Oh, I bet you'll get one," the Doctor said absent-mindedly. He paused briefly and looked up at the Rose that was sitting in the stands. "Actually, I'm sure you'll get one. The shirt, I mean. Don't have a clue about the leotard."

"I'll talk to Coach when she gets here. I mean, _if_ she gets here."

The Doctor didn't say anything, but examined Rose's wrist. He turned it over, feeling for bumps where irregular bones would be protruding. There were none.

"Your wrist's fine, by some miracle," the Doctor said. "If you ever think you break something again, though, demand an X-ray. Demand it!"

Rose smiled. "I liked this doctor, though- he was nice. And I placed fourth in All-Around!"

"How nice could he be? He examined your wrist then left you to fend for yourself. I would've kicked him in the shin."

"He told me something," she went on, pulling her leotard sleeve back up. "He said that sometimes, when you're doing something dangerous or whatever, you should go with your instincts, but sometimes you have to go with your brain, as far as what to do- whether to go or whether to not go. Just common sense stuff."

"Sounds like a nutter to me."

"Well, maybe he was," Rose laughed. "But I think about what he said sometimes. It really makes sense, when you think about it. 'Specially in gymnastics."

The Doctor scratched his head, but his grimace became a slight smile. "Well, good luck competing today."

Rose sat back down in her chair. "I just hope I'll _get_ to compete," she said, flustered. "I can't if Coach doesn't never gets here."

At that moment, there was uproar of voices as a woman stormed through the entrance of the building, parting the people in the queue like the Red Sea. Gymnasts and coaches literally jumped out of the woman's way as she stormed through the gym, making a beeline for Rose and the Doctor.

"Rose!" she half-shouted, as if she didn't already have Rose's attention.

"Is this her?" the Doctor said, smiling broadly. Rose nodded weakly.

"Rose, Rose! Have you warmed up yet? No?"

"I couldn't start without you," she replied simply.

Coach waved her clipboard haphazardly. "Oh, oh, I see- so it's really _my_ fault they had roads works? That's what I get for walking here, Rose! I could have driven, but nope, nope, had to walk, had to take the _long_ way." She threw her bag down next to Rose's.

"Oh, and you know what else? I saw that they're trying to resurrect those police phone boxes! Passed one on the way down here!"

The Doctor snorted.

"And who the hell do you think _you_ are?" Coach demanded. "Can I see some identification?"

"I…uh…" the Doctor felt in his pockets in vain. "I've left them in my other suit…"

"I tried to call the gym and tell them I was going to be late," Coach continued, focused on Rose again, "but the phone didn't dial, didn't go anywhere. Dead line. I don't think the cord was even attached to anything. It was locked, too. Can you imagine that? A locked police phone box! That's defeating the purpose of it, that is. Unbelievable. Simply unbelievable."

She turned back to the Doctor. "Some ID, huh?"

Rose locked eyes with Rose, who was already making her way towards him. "It's coming, just hold on…"

Coach's nostrils flared. She told the younger Rose to go do ten laps around the floor. The older Rose, however, saw the Doctor's face- she knew that face well, it was the panic-trying-to-maintain-calm face- and broke into a jog herself.

"Need some ID?" she asked, handing him the psychic paper. He flipped it open and showed it to Coach.

"Patricia Lewis?" Coach asked, taking the paper from him.

"Damn!" the Doctor hissed. "It got confused," he explained to Rose in a whisper. "We switched too quickly or something; I can't remember how it works."

"Not very good paper then, if you can't switch identities quickly…" Rose raised her eyebrows.

Coach made a noise that sounded like a lion about to go in for the kill.

"Well, I'll give the paper a stern talking to when we get back to the TARDIS, but till then…" the Doctor whispered back. He grinned at Coach apologetically and snatched the paper back. "Well just show ourselves out, then, will we?"

He grabbed Rose's arm and pulled her to the door.

"And if you pass that police box, don't try making any calls with it," Coach called after them. "It's like you're not meant to get in it or something," she huffed.

"Or something," the Doctor smiled back, and laughed at Rose, who looked completely puzzled.

The two swapped stories on their way back to the TARDIS- Rose had asked Jackie about her progress, how well she was getting along at gym, things like that. The Doctor recounted his discussion about the doctor that had worked on Rose's wrist.

"The way she described it, it was almost like…" the Doctor trailed off, rummaging around in his pocket for the TARDIS key.

"Almost like?" Rose asked.

"Like…nah," the Doctor said, opening the door. "Never mind. I'm going mental."

Rose just smiled and stepped into the pseudo-phone box, but the Doctor hung around for a moment, thinking. Thinking about Rose and gymnastics and the sonic screwdriver…

And in the middle of all of his thinking, he suddenly realised the fact that he seemed to be forgetting something (which he was grateful for, because he wanted to stop thinking. Thinking was much too hard, especially when it involved past regenerations). He checked his pockets; the sonic screwdriver and the psychic paper were both there. He certainly hadn't left Rose behind. So what was…?

At that very moment, at a small bistro next to a large building hosting a gymnastics meet, Patricia Long sat down at one of the tables and picked up her menu. She flipped her hair over her shoulder, opened the menu and put her index finger to her chin thoughtfully.

"I'll have the halibut."

**ddwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdwdw**

Well, that's it! Thank you all very much for reading! Enjoy the salad bar. Don't forget to get your coat on the way out. And get one of those mints, you know, that they put in those baskets by the door? Those are really good, just give them a chance…


End file.
